


Steel Reign

by Sphinxriddle



Series: Fragments of Voss [12]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Gen, Is this canon compliant? I dont know nor do I care, Its Danica Compliant is what it is, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:40:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22246471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sphinxriddle/pseuds/Sphinxriddle
Summary: What Happens when You Pick Up A Sword you Should Have Left AloneAKAA series of Vignettes into the relationship my Warrior of Light has with the Elder Primal Odin
Series: Fragments of Voss [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1513865
Comments: 12
Kudos: 15





	1. Urths Font

**Author's Note:**

> It's amazing how hard Danica was like "yes this is canon" considering fighting odin in game when i was a bby level 50 who didnt know how to unsych things and consumed five hours of my life all for nothing and therefore was pain 
> 
> I thought you got his horse from there
> 
> word of advice
> 
> you dont

Leaves crunched under heavy, almost metallic, hooves. A sentry, high among the branches, snapped to attention, her white knuckled grip upon her spear tightening. Eyes narrowed, was this just another deer, wandering into the Font? Or some vain adventure not unlike herself seeking death and glory in equal measure? Or was this her target, her quarry, her  _ hunt? _

She held her breath, scanning the forest floor. Thinking back to the warm, dry rooms of the waking sand and the events that lead here this deep in the forest, alone save for the occasional squirrel climbing among the branches, curious what exactly the person shaped statue was doing in the trees. 

_ “Pray, Lady Voss, art thee truly sure thee wish to go alone?” _ Urianger had asked her, not long after the two of them had finished parsing Lieutenant Scarlet’s urgent letter. Detailing the resurcents of the “Dark Divinity” Odin. The Primal so shrouded in myth, it was only fitting that he chose the Black Shroud as his hunting ground.

_ “What choice do we have?”  _ She had asked back.  _ “The others are busy with equally as important business, and It’s not like I don’t know how to call for backup.”  _ Her voice had been sure, when in truth she had been far from the picture of confidence. Primals were group endeavours. Always the lot of them on the field together, not unlike the Company of Heroes. Or what was the group she’d been learning about recently? The Zodiac Braves? The Danica Voss of the present shook the thought from her head and focused back upon the sounds of the shroud.

It mattered not how she came to this situation, only that she was in it. Nestled among the trees, stalking the woods for sightings of the Dark Divinity with full intent to engage and hopefully dispatch him. At least temporarily.

In all honesty, she had very little faith O-App-Pesi’s plan to rid the woods of him forever was going to work. Especially with how little they knew about him. They knew not his origin. They knew not how he got his powers. They knew not who believed in him (though she had a theory on that one.) How were they sure that by killing him here that he’d stay dead? What made this place so special.

If the Padjal hadn’t been so adamant she immediately set out on her hunt, she’d have demanded she be given time to double check his research. She would have laughed, in another situation, even long after she had left the thaumaturges guild, it still had its claws in her in someway. 

The forest was silent. 

Dead silent. 

She could hear herself breath if she focused hard enough. A smirk played at the edge of her lips, fools confidence. The time for waiting was over. The time for action was now.

Entering the clearing, she could see him. Armored from head to toe, atop a fiendish looking steed clad in the same black metal. The Master of the Hunt, perhaps about to be hunted. She watched him for a spell, barely breathing, committing every single movement - even those as simple as a roll of the primals neck - to memory. She found, over time, those same questions peaking into her minds eye, not as distractions, but as useful leads. How could she fight an enemy she did not truly know. 

The Horsemen lead his beast towards the center of the clearing, and seemed to stall. Sheathing his sword unexpectedly and merely tilting his helm up in the rain. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think he was just a wandering knight of parts unknown, pausing to let the rain ease the stiffness in his old bones. 

But he was a primal. An Unknown, perhaps even unknowable primal.

She, spear in hand, jumped from her perch in the trees to the wet grass of the clearing.

She would find out which it was. Knowable. Unknowable. God. Man. 

Odin slowly looked down from the sky, following her path from the trees with obscured eyes. When she did not charge forward, he turned his horse to face her. Sleipnir she believed he was called. Closer up he looked almost more voidsent than horse. Fiery red eyes, hair more akin to large feathers than a proper mane. She tore her eyes from the beast back to its rider, whose hand rested patiently upon his sword.

“Doth thou think yourself a worthy foe? Mortal before me.”

His voice echoed in the woods, the only sound for miles if she had to guess. His very presence breeding dread into the forest animals. She could feel that primal urge to flee into the night while she still potentially had a chance. Yet she stood firm. Yet she answered.

“I can’t speak for my “worth”” she started, her voice not betraying her shaken core. “But I can speak for my curiosity. And if such a thing leads us to clash, so be it then ey?” She removed her spear tip from the ground, and began pacing around the primal. Far enough away she could retreat into the cloud tops if he advanced, close enough that she could watch him like a hungry animal. 

If Odin could have, he would have smiled. Worthy prey indeed. 

“Speak then, what is your query. Tis’ best to die without questions.” He kept his hand firm on the hilt of his blade. Helm tracking her movement, Sleipnir baying impatiently. Part of her was disappointed that it need come to blows, another was surprised she saw any other outcome. She stopped her pacing, holding the primal at spear point. 

“Who are you?”

The question rang out into the empty air, and the world itself seemed to come to a standstill. For the first time in their entire encounter thus far, Odin looked away. Odin faltered. With a smile on her face, she did not wait for his answer. Sailing through the skies with dragonfire in her veins, A hunter versus a hunter. 

“Every Primal has a Story.” She spoke once more, diving backwards when his shield repelled her initial blow. Landing on her feet initially, she rolled to the side to avoid his mounts angry hooves. 

“An Origin” Her strike rang true off the armor of the primal, a burst of aether the signifier. Yet one blow would not be enough. The primal drew his sword.

“Someone who believes.” She could not roll away, jump away, from his next series of blows. Thrown backwards by the force of Zantetsuken’s blows, all she could do was struggle to recover her footing. The blood trickling down her arm a sign of his own victory.

She stumbled back to her feet, taking a more defensive stance as the primal once again took note of her. The sword, she realized now, was beautiful. A massive curved blade of black metal that seemed almost to glow in the dark shroud. 

“So tell me,” She began, as Odin advanced forward, fast. Realistically, he had the advantage on speed, but she had it on height. Jumping towards the edge of the clearing every time he grew close.

“Who are you, who believes in you?” 

Those final words muttered, Odin once again faltered. His grip upon his blade less sure, less controlled. Yet, that made him no less Dangerous. What replaced the knights' confidence was a feral rage as the Primal screamed at her. 

Screamed at her and charged. 

And thus, the fight began in earnest. 

But thankfully, she was not upon her back foot. Charging as he did, Voss dodged the fell blade with precision and skill, looking for any gap in the black plate that might prove fatal. Ribs? No the chest plate was solid. Knees? No the joints were welded with a master's hand. Helm? She couldn’t see his face beyond his...

Eyes, she’d aim for his eyes.

Jumping back, she landed hard upon the ground. The blood pooling at her feet proof of her mortality, proof of her humanity. Proof of where the primals blade had hit its mark. Her breath was coming heavy, apparently, in her search for weaknesses, she hadn’t realized the extent of her own damage. 

She would not stop now, not with an end so well in sight. 

One for either of them. Perhaps even both of them.

The Primal raised his sword, high into the sky. Where it sparkled and gleamed with unholy intent. The Dragoons spear was held much the same, save her eyes were closed. The lights however, that congealed around both were different, antagonistic. Where one was a swirl of black and purple light, attempting to strangle out her light even then, the other was a brilliant blue. Taking the form of a Dragons head, as she leapt high into the sky. Hoping to find her mark.

Praying to find her mark. 

When she once more opened her eyes, she was alone in the clearing, and her spear dug heavily into the ground as a cloud of aether quickly dissipated into the cool night air around her. Victorious. 

Dropping the weapon, she let out a mighty cry, and it was as if all the forest cheered with her. Alive once more. Oh they would never believe this. She couldn’t wait to tell them all. The Scions. Haurchefant. Hells, maybe she’d even track down Estinien’s grumpy ass and tell him too.

She fell upon her butt, laying back upon the ground, and let out a content giggle. Gazing through the leaves to the quickly clearing night sky. At least until she heard the wet clatter of another blade than her own hitting the ground. 

Jumping defensively, half expecting the primal to be lying in wait with some kind of fell trap, she was greeted by the sight of his blade.  _ Strange,  _ she thought,  _ should have gone away with him.  _

Then again, most of the primals she’d faced before then hadn’t used weapons. Claws, fists, talons, but no weapons. Perhaps those stayed? Relaxing her pose, she remained curious. Strapping her spear to her back she approached the fallen sword, so much smaller now that the primal that held it was dead. 

_Should bring this in for study,_ her tired mind urged her, _Urianger would probably have a field day._ It glowed still, brighter now under the night sky. It was so beautiful. Waiting for its owner to return.

If only she hadn’t reached out, and taken it.


	2. Deal or No Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voss has a Plan. 
> 
> But Will the Primal accept the bargain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing like making deals with the god thing you just killed. Nothing can possibly go wrong. At all. Totally. 
> 
> TOTALLY

What came next was void. A black empty void of nothing save her own consciousness aware that it was there. Perhaps, once upon a time, this would have scared her. Before Hydaelyn beckoned her forth, bestowed upon her titles she had no desire to wield. “Bringer of Light” “Warrior of Light” “Scion” “Hero”

Those times had long since passed, and would never return again. So her mind sat in this void, aware, and mostly just bothered that she didn’t know why. Was she dead? Had the sword thrown one final blow for its errant former master and taken her with the Elder primal? Or was she dying, bleeding out unceremoniously upon the forest floor. Her injuries actually much more severe than she had initially realized in her victorious euphoria. Or was it something else, something she didn’t have a name for.

_ “I do not know.” _

Words, echoing in the blackness. The first sign that she was not alone. She traced her eyes across the expanse before, behind, and all around her. At first she saw nothing, unsurprising considering how well the black plate of the fallen primal blended in with wherever they found themselves. 

“What?” She found herself asking, surprised when the words sounded through the void, and not just her own head. 

“Your question.” He spoke, grimness, acceptance in his tone. “I do not know the answer to it.” Who he was. Who believed in him. A primal without purpose. Shouldn’t he had disappeared then? Unless, she wondered, raising a finger to her chin in thought. Unless the very fear of the people of the twelves woods are what caused him to maintain form. Their own terrified and terrifying cryptid.

“Tis’ not that” He spoke again, either reading her mind or perhaps - “Yes we are in your mind. Though it shan't be yours for much longer.” She blinked, startled once more.

“Speak plainly,” She demanded, her fear breeding anger and confusion, and it seeping into her mind's voice. “What do you mean?” She stepped forward, and found the void of her mind provided solid ground. 

“You did not know?” He asked, almost a whisper. Sorrow and sympathy in equal measure bleeding into his own voice.

Danica grew more enraged, balling her fists and stepping closer to the primal. “Know what!” She exclaimed, now chest to chest with him. So much smaller in this mindscape. 

“Whoever slays Odin, Becomes Odin.”

The words echoed heavy in her heart and in her mind. She understood now the fear of the forest animals, it wasn’t one based upon the innate chain of predator and prey but based on the fear of loss of self. Loss of what makes a person, themselves. Her minds eye flashed visions of Estinien, that one time upon the cliffs not far from the cave where they first met. Of when Nidhogg held him in his grasp, tugging at his rage as they fought. And she feared. She truly, and utterly feared.

“No!” She exclaimed. She would be! Herself. Danica. As long as she could. Odin frowned, it was always the same. They struggled, struggled against the coming wave that would strip them of all save the will of the sword. Why was it always the strong who defeated him? Those who could live such better lives.

“There has to be another way.” Her words snapped the primal from what little memories he had. The determined frown on her face was refreshing. “Some other way for you to be or end or, I don’t know...Be?”

“I’m afraid I’ve little say in the matter.” He responded, thinking back to the sword that had brought them both here. “Your fate was sealed the moment you touched Zantetsuken.”

“Is it the primal?” She asked, confused yet still.

“I do not know. 

“What do you know?” She began pacing, struggling against the tide already eating at her mind.

“I know the sword is magic. I know those who slay me become me. I know that I wander this region of the woods for a reason, even if I don’t remember it.” He raised his black plated fingers and began counting off. “And most importantly, Mortal, I know that I hunt.”

She stopped, spinning on her heel to face him with a look of utter joy upon her face. “That’s it! You hunt!” Odin, for his part, had no idea what she was on about. The primal crossed his arms and waited for further explanation, as scholarly types were all so often fond of giving. 

“We can hunt together!” Or perhaps it didn’t need an in depth explanation. Odin tilted his helmed head, curious. As if asking her to continue. “I hunt great powerful things, though admittedly no choice of my own but it happens all the same.”

She willed the image of the Ultima Weapon, the Primals, hells even some particularly nasty bandits into the void space around them. “We can hunt them together, and maybe we can figure out who you are along the way. Considering if you’ve wandered around here for centuries and don’t know maybe the answer isn’t here?” 

He looked on these fearsome foes felled by his slayer and her friends and felt a modicum of pride. She’d make an excellent odin, if her suggestion was adverse to the sword, but he couldn’t stop himself from hoping that it would be. That he’d be able to travel and see and try to remember why this place is important. Why he stalked there in particular. 

“What makes you think you can stop the sword from just swallowing you?” He asked, not daring to let the hope color his voice. 

“Well. I’m.. I can’t be tempered. At least that’s what the echo is supposed to do? I think.” Her words were a waterfall of uncertainty, even as her actions and movements were sure. Extending her hand to the errant primal. “Would you like to at least give it a try?” 

He said nothing, but reached out to take her hand. 

And as black plate glove touched fingerless leather her eyes snapped open to a crack of thunder illuminating the forest floor. 


	3. Dial A Summoner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danica Voss had the nerve to call up a very successful very powerful summoner currently between pirate crews
> 
> Totally didn't just call him because they're friends
> 
> Caolan is a big softie

Rain. Rain was a regular occurrence in the Shroud. Caolan Haustefort should know that. Caolan Haustefort liked to consider himself a smart man, and things such as the local weather patterns should be within his constant purview of “things he was aware of.” 

But as his floppy wet beret could tell you, he very much was not. 

Danica was lucky, he thought to himself, lucky he was bored enough trying to find a ship to sign on to in Limsa that he'd be willing to drop everything and come to this ass end of the forest to see how she was faring. A lie in two parts on his account, one he told himself in a vain attempt to keep the haughty aloof arcanist act in one piece. He was sure that was exactly the kind of person ships were looking for and Gods above he’d be their man. 

Of course he’d also be the worried mother hen, rushing from one end of Eorzea to the other when one of his comrades muttered even a single worrying word. 

Pushing open the swinging doors of Buscarron Druthers, the rush of warm dry air made him shudder, sending droplets of water all over any who were within spitting distance on the main door. His eyes scanned the crowd for the mop of black hair and slightly pointed ears of the woman whose shaky voiced link pearl call had dragged him there, and when his eyes came up empty his heart began pounding. The mask slipping and worry visually coloring his grey face, somehow losing what little color it did have in the process. His long steps rushed him towards the tavern keeper, a strong looking gent whose name adorned the very place he ran. 

“Need a drink, son? I’m sure I have something here that can warm your drenched bones” Buscarron asked, looking up at the Duskwight with a sympathetic eye. Caolan shook his head no, sending another wave of splatters across the bar this time. 

“Not now, though depending on what the person I’m supposed to meet here has to say, perhaps later.” He cracked a nervous smile, letting his eyes wander over the gathered crowds again, absently. Trying to maintain a calm that he was no longer actually capable of holding.

“Looking for the Dragoon in the corner perhaps?” Buscarron’s words drew caolans eyes and attention back towards him. The ‘keep motioned to a well hidden alcove with the glass he had been cleaning. Eyes following, he did not like what he saw.

Danica sat in the booth, eyes downcast, intent upon the small linkpearl and not at all at either the food or drink placed in front of her. She looked exhausted, almost half dead. “She’s been like that since she wandered in here during the worst of the storm. I had half the mind to offer the poor girl use of the backroom to rest, but something tells me she’d be too proud to accept the offer.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” He replied, he shook his head, a heavy sigh following. “Thank you.” He pushed himself off the bar, and with a slight bow of his head towards its keeper he turned towards Dee. His frown never truly leaving his face.

Buscarron’s eyes followed the leggy gent, he must have been whoever she called on that little red pearl earlier. Who she spoke to in rushed, hushed tones, far too low for him to make out anything she actually said even with his trained ear. All he knew was that she looked scared, and alone, and his honor - and his memory of when she came bouncing through the door on order of the Lancer’s guild - had him flicking his eye back over there every once and awhile. Just make sure she was still upright and breathing. 

“Dee?” Caolans voice was almost a whisper as he approached his friend, and yet she still nearly jumped from her skin when his words hit her ears. She paused just short of her spear, just recognizing him before her hands wrapped around its shaft. Danica Voss was jumpy.

This wasn’t good.

Voss was never jumpy. 

Ok that was a lie, Caolan chastised himself, her entire preferred form of combat revolved around jumping, but this was a different jumpy. A scary jumpy. A worrying jumpy. A jumpy that had him compressing himself to as small a size as he possibly could, which admittedly, even when he hunched over and scrunched up his shoulders wasn’t very small. 

“Dee...” he let her name hang in the air as he slid into the booth, across from her. Trying to figure out, among his many grand social stratagem, which to employ to talk to a friend about something bothering her. 

“Your food is getting cold.” Working around the problem before getting it, that would work yes? He thought to himself, gently nudging the plate towards his friends. Even if it didn’t work, it would make her eat something, hopefully. 

Voss flicked her eyes to the plate, as if noticing it for the first time. She opened her mouth, flicked her eyes towards Buscarron who simply waved, and then shook her head. The way her brows crinkled as she grimaced spoke a sharp spike of pain as she did so. 

“....Not Hungry.” She eventually managed to whisper. “But thank you.” Her eyes flashed back towards the owner, who hard turned back to his own work for now. She silently cursed herself, how had she not heard him place it down? Odin, or the sword, or perhaps even just her own overactive mind painted her scenarios were such inattention would be fatal.

“Thirsty then?” Caolan asked, tilting his head, and comically letting his dripping beret fall with an audible splat. Danica blinked, startled and confused at the sound, but drawn away from her own mind if even for a second by the sheer strangeness of Haustefort without a hat. When she didn’t respond, he leaned in, his wet hair dripping upon the table. Gods he wished he had thought to bring an umbrella.

“Or perhaps you wish to tell me why you summoned me all the way from Limsa, where if you’d like to know I was very very close to actually signing on with a good crew for a spell, via linkpearl with just the words “We need to talk.” You know, the anxiety words. The no good very bad anxiety words.” He cracked a small smile, hoping his good natured jab at the heart of the problem would ease some answers out of the half elezen woman.

She swallowed hard, eyes still downcast when she answered. 

“I need help.” Three simple words that did not tell any meat of the matter. He blinked, waiting for more words, fear growing in his heart as the seconds turned closer towards a minute. Slowly, she raised her hands to the table. They were bruised, bandaged things. Unsurprising considering her martial profession.

“Did you really summon me all this way just to heal some minor injuries?” He asked, giving an incredulous. He deeply doubted such a thing would be the case. Hells, he’d known her to forgo medical treatment when she really needed it, if it didn’t seem important at the time via her own special, Danica standards.

Then, he noticed the black metal hilt in her hands. 

His mouth hung open, shock and awe stalling any words from leaving his mouth. He’d never thought he’d live to be in the presence of such a sword, well unless it was swinging down upon him to end his pitiful existence. Yet, here it was in Danica’s hand. 

“You killed Odin?” He whispered, finally. Grasping at her wrist holding the hilt and shoving it back beneath the table. Scanning the bar for eyes turned their way, thankful that his whisper hadn’t actually been a scream. 

“Yes.” She responded with her hands shaking, “No.” She said quickly after. Her eyes finally leaving the sword to look into his grey ones. They were red, had she been crying? Or was she just tired. 

“What do you mean?” He asked, leaning further across the table. The wood digging into his gut, he was almost crawling across it. 

“I think it is the Primal.” She whispered, and he felt his gut twist. “And... and whoever kills Odin becomes him the moment they touch the sword.” 

Becomes the primal. 

The words hit him like an imperial air raid. He dare not ask to confirm if she was saying what he thought she was saying. The look on her face was enough to tell him that any shadow of doubt in her own mind was long gone. He took a deep breath.

“What do you need me to do, Dee?” His voice was serious, thankfully not betraying the fear in his core. His friend, a primal. A primal among those who hunt primals. He was sure she was having those very same worried thoughts rushing through her mind, mayhap even faster. Of those she called friend turning their blade upon her, striking her down. Her name cursed, those close to her executed for fear of being tempered. He closed his eyes, swallowed hard, and spoke again.

“Anything you need of me, I will do.”

“I need you to be my friend right now.”

She responded, her voice shaky. Perhaps on the verge of tears. Reaching across the table, caolan grasped the hand that did not hold the cursed blade with both of his. A comforting shield, even if only in theory and less in practice.

Hells, the Arcanist Guild never prepared him for something like this.

“I’m...” She spoke, looking back towards the swirling wood grain of the table. “I’m telling you because you're the only person my mind gave me that wouldn’t...” She couldn’t even bring herself to finish the sentence. He wondered how long she sat agonizing over those names before ringing him up. He was glad she did.

“I need you to help me understand this, help me figure out what exactly is going on. You know stuff about primals, about summoning! And you're my friend and...” She shook her head, grimacing. If Odin was in there, was he talking to her? Was he making this easy, making this hard?

“I can do that, I’ll head back to Limsa and start spending my days scouring for everything I can get on the topic. And I’ll get us a linkpearl for just us. And I’ll... Have you told anyone else?” He asked, concern in his voice. “Who sent you out here anyway? Last I heard you were too busy punching people in Ul’dah for sport.”

Danica snorted, and Caolan smiled. Progress in this strange predicament they found themselves, that he had been dragged into. 

“Urianger, we Scions were called on to try to put a permanent end to Odin. We thought we had a plan by fighting him in Urth’s font but...” She shook her head, giving a bitter chuckle. “Look how that turned out.”

“Urianger, that’s the guy with the hood right?” he asked, trying to remember everything he could about Danica’s fellow scions. He remembered little, mostly tidbits about the ones Zara and Bryce were also familiar with. There was Neran, the Paladin, then Aveline the Astrologian, and Y’sthola - he’d seen her around Limsa and... 

He cursed his memory for not giving him more. 

Danica gave an affirming nod. “The others were out dealing with other big problems, so it fell to me and now...”

“Do you trust Urianger as well?” Caolan asked, not allowing Danica to continue deep into the swirling abyss of fear that stood before her. She looked up and nodded. 

“He’s done nothing to earn my distrust,”

“Then I think we should tell him as well.” Caolan announced, Danica merely shrugged. 

Though her voice showed much more fear than her nonchalant movement did. 

“I’d prefer to let as few people know about this condition as possible.” She whispered. Eyes darting around the room. None had eyes on her, but it didn’t stop her from worrying ears may be. 

“Alright, don’t, but at least report in so they don’t come calling.” He amended his statement, and she sighed. He was right, so very right. If she didn’t report in people would come calling. When people come calling, they ask questions. And when people ask questions, they inevitably get answers. She swallowed hard and nodded.

“Come with me?” 

She asked, though it was more of a plea. He sighed, shaking his wet head with a look of mock insult upon his face.

“Yet you request more! Ugh, fine.” He couldn’t stop a smile from creeping upon his face, or laughter from breaking his words

“But let’s at least wait till the rain stops,”

“Pray then we will return to the waking sands?”


	4. Blood Hunger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the way to the Waking sands, Danica and Caolan realize they've forgotten to do something very important.
> 
> Feed the Primal.

Cold desert night air whipped sand into a small frenzy. Stars, immaculate in their clarity, sparkled overhead. Once upon a time Danica Voss would have found their gentle glimmering a comfort after the long, loud, days in the city of Ul’dah. She feared, like her dreams of being naught but a sellsword turned innkeeper, those tender memories were just that now. Memories.

For now their twinkling eyes bore down upon her with holy judgement she would do anything to hide from. Her hands tightened on the reigns of her chocobo, eyes downcast into Miral’s brilliant plum feathers. Caolan had suggested forgoing teleporting to Horizon, as neither of them could say for certain if her new  _ “ _ Condition” would have any adverse effects in relation to the aether stream such magics entailed. 

His fear was valid, she could just envision that worst case scenario. Disappearing from the Tavern in the Shroud only to appear fully armed and armored, a black clad fiend, in the middle of a town in the desert. The carnage would be gruesome, the likes of which she only saw in her memory. Ala Mhigo. The Empires attack on the Waking Sands. She pressed her eyes closed and tried to will away those memories with lackluster results. 

Miral gave a curious chirp, Caolan swore under his breath about the damned sand, and Odin, for his part, was silent. They traveled like that, uneasy across the night towards an unknown that scared her. 

Caolan, back at the bar, had been correct in the assumption that her mind's eye played for her the worst possible scenarios. Perhaps they would bind her, like the Allagans did Bahamut. Use her as their own weapon. A tired, pessimistic part of her pointed out that it wouldn’t be too much different from how it was now then, a weapon of the star. Or perhaps they would give her the small mercy of just killing her - but then who would pick up the sword. One inevitably did, as Odin had told her. Someone was inevitably curious enough to touch it, and continue the cycle anew. 

Thancred would never forgive her, if it was he. She wouldn’t deserve it. Nor would she forgive herself, if any of her friends fell prey to the weapon. This was her curse now, no one elses. 

Her mind played for her the image of the youngest of those she knew, Alphinaud, grasping the blade and being consumed by its influence. She shuddered, such images broke her heart and twisted her stomach in equal measure, she would not let that even be a possibility.

When asked if she was ok, she merely blamed her shivers on the wind. 

“That breeze bothers you, yet you run around near topless in Coerthas?” Caolan asked, equal parts exasperated and entertained. An attempt on his part to relax his comrade with some level of humorous ribbing. Danica, snapping her head from purple plumage, offered a half hearted smile.

“It was you who taught me the art of glamour, remember?” She replied, remembering fondly sitting in an inn room in the Quicksand with Caolan, Zara, and their new tall Xaela friend Bryce surrounded by tiny pyramids and glamour plates trying to figure out how to do what with them. “Stopped me from running around looking like a tin can.” 

“If anyone would have looked like a tin can it would have been Bryce. You would have run around looking like you just broke out of the leather harness factory and were a rogue sentient bit of leather on the loose.” She chuckled, as obtuse and strange as that comparison was it was uniquely Caolan. The elezen man beamed, a triumph under his belt. 

“How long do you think till we hit Horizon?” He asked, unfamiliar with the terrain. Danica smiled, went to reply, but found words not forthcoming. Frustrated, she blinked a few times, drawing Caolans attention with her silence.

_ Hunt. _

The word blared in her mind, blinding her to all but the perception of that concept. Hunt. Kill. Consume. Prove your worth against all that bleeds and breaths and dies. Distantly, she could hear Caolan calling her name, muffled, like he was underwater. Or perhaps she was, consumed by a wave of -

_ HUNT _

She doubled over upon Miral, falling from the birds saddle to the sand below. A thump that made her body ache, pain beating in tandem with the repetition of the word, louder and louder. She thinks she screamed, at least she felt like she should.

Caolan jumped from his own mount, an old, dusty brown Chocobo named Teacup, and ran to her side. Grasping frantically at his friends shoulders, checking for some visible injury that ailed her and praying that it wasn’t what he thought. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that that hope was for naught.

She looked up at him from the sand, her normally cheerful mismatched eyes of green and gold and pale hollow white that bore into his soul. His mind screamed at him to get back, to run. His friend was here no longer and all that was to remain would be the shell of a Primal hunting for his own gain.

But he couldn’t do that. 

At least, not and look at himself in the mirror the next day.

So instead, he grasped her shoulders tight, nails digging into the leather of her jacket. “Danica! Danica can you hear me!” He asked, holding her tight against him in some vain hope of stilling whatever particular of Odin had taken hold of her. She struggled, her hands clawing at his coat and scarf, her scream growing louder, echoing across the sands.

It was only when he felt black plated claws dig into his face was he forced to let go, stumbling backwards upon the sand. Blood dripping down his cheek, splattering like rain upon the earth. 

Odin. Or Danica. Or both. Stood.

One half of themselves covered in the black plate traditionally associated with the Dark Divinity, whose clawed gauntlets dripped with the very same blood that fell from his face. The other half looked at him with one wide, terrified, golden eye. Screaming at him just as loudly as his mind to run. 

And yet, he couldn’t. Paralyzed by fear and worry and more than a bit of shock.

The plated half rose its hand, collecting the hilt of the accursed sword and raising it skyward. Caolan watched in awe as the aetherial black blade manifested. His mouth agape, words far too slow to keep up with his thoughts. 

Taking the blade fast, the metallic half lowered it at him, preparing the strike. To end him. Caolan could do naught but look into the one golden eye not with fear, but with sadness. Worry even. If this was to be his end, he wouldn’t mind, but he wished she naught remember it. That she be consumed by what they were trying to subdue, and not now harm had befallen a friend by some version of her hand.

When the Voss’ free hand reached out and pushed the arm with the sword down. He couldn’t help but smile. She was fighting. She was fighting and that gave him time.

_ HUNT. PROVE YOUR WORTH. _

The words pounded against her skull like hammers upon stone. She struggled to fight against them. There was naught to hunt here! All that surrounded them was sand, chocobos, and each other! Not anything to target! Just people to enjoy the company of! To care for and love as family. Teacup was a testy old bird. Miral a jovial chocobo who Danica was pretty sure thought himself a lapdog! Caolan was one of her oldest, dearest, friends and one she would be so very alone without. 

Yet. She could feel it. His blood dripping down the gauntlet her hand had become. She could feel that same blood smudge across the hilt of the sword. Of the damned thing that started it all. She could feel, almost in her very soul, the blade coalesce into shape. She could feel the very breath of all around her, waiting for the end.

An end they would not receive, never at her hands, so long as she had breath to scream.

And scream she did, with all her might thrown behind her will, she turned and ran off into the dunes. Leaving Caolan, and the birds behind. Hoping whatever she came across next was animal and not person.

“Gods.” Caolan exclaimed, confused, as he wrapped his already red scarf around his bleeding face in an attempt to at least solve one problem. Miral let out a mournful chirp, gently nudging the Elezen, before motioning towards the horizon that held Danica and Odin. Teacup, for his part, found something to snack on. 

Caolan reached for the plum birds beak and gave a few reassuring pets. 

“Hells, what are we going to do with you Dee?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This bit ended up longer than I thought it would be, so I've decided to split this section into two chapters.
> 
> Enjoy Danica's "And I must scream" and also the Origin of my boy Caolans face Scars in 14


	5. Sated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caolan uses some reserved engineered emergency summoning magic to get things under control
> 
> Odin has a nice snack.

Miral chirped, curious and mournful, as Caolan lead both he and Teacup to some rocks by the cave mouth. They’d stay here, for now. Away from the danger they saw enter this cave, and the friend they needed to rescue. They were to be a warning bell for the world, if Caolan failed to pacify Odin. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but the shrill cry of chocobos could serve as an effective warning bell. 

He’d watched the half formed primal stumble in there earlier, struggling against themselves, attempting to direct the body they shared two drastically different ways. Staggering, like a drunkard, into the dangerous wild. 

He’d been following them from a distance, trying to figure out how he was going to fix things. Help things. Caolan wished he could say he had come up with an answer. But he’d never been one for lies, at least when it came to his friends. His only hope was cornering an Odin who had found something to hunt, and was busy processing any large amount of Aether and attempting to use the same strategy he used to summon any of his Egi, but instead of tuning it towards their desired element or energy, attempting to attune it to something against his nature. Rest perhaps? What was the opposite of the Dark Divinity? 

He didn’t have time to ponder that question, he could hear the grating of metal upon metal deeper in the cave. Good, he hadn’t lost her. She had grown silent, however, and he’d have been lying if he said that didn’t worry him. He didn't have a single clue what he would do if she was consumed. 

Hells, he didn’t know what he’d  _ tell  _ people if she was consumed.

Deeper in the cave, he heard a shriek. Dropping any pretense that he was attempting to hide, he rushed forward further. Cursing himself that he couldn’t tell if that was man or beast. Praying it was the latter. 

Zantetsuken’s blade glistened in the faint starlight, slick with the blood of the massive chimera that rested at Odin, at his new vessels feet. Odin held the blade in his hand, almost reverently, admiring it like one would a sculpture. All the while, she swayed. Woosy. 

_ Hunt... _

The cry in her mind grew less painful, but still remained present. Was the god yet hungry? Had this beast not been enough? Or was she losing herself, loosing this battle against her own body.

Gods, her side ached. No, it burnt like fire was running through her veins. She staggered hard against the rock wall of the cavern, interrupting Odin from his moonlight reverie. 

“You yet fight.” His words came from her mouth. She hated that. Hated him. She swore she would bow to none if she could help it and yet here she was, being forced to bow.

_ “I will never cease.”  _ She screamed, determined, in a mind that was rightfully hers. She could almost feel him smile, behind his black plate half. Perhaps because it was her face, that which still looked like her, that did so. Even as pain wracked her. 

Odin had fought the Chimera unscathed.

She had not. 

“Good,” Odin spoke. Her voice mingled with his, echoing through the cave. “That will serve you well.” He spoke to her like some errant child, in need of a firm hand to guide her. Her resentment grew tenfold at that realization. Struggling to stand from the wall, she attempted to will the sword away.

“Why do such a thing, we may yet still need it.” Odin corrected, the blade remained fast in his hand. She grimaced, trying yet again, only to meet the same results. He turned her body to face the cave entrance, or at least the cavern that lead there. “Such as the mortal you let flee earlier.”

Caolan swallowed hard, stealing his courage as he cowered behind a distant rock.. Had he actually been that loud, or was Odin just that sort of ultra powerful hunter that even his successful attempts to hide were failures in the eyes of the primal? No matter the answer, he had been spotted, and the moment of truth had arrived.

Now it was time to learn if his plan was going to sink, or if it was going to swim.

Stepping from behind the rock, his grimoire held tight in his hands, he prepared for the worst, even as the best seemed to be naught but a fever dream. 

“Danica.” He started, extending a hand towards the primal. He tried to keep his voice level, some part of him not wanting to show his deep fear in front of Odin. 

_ Caolan!  _ Danica screamed in her mind. Why hadn’t he ran? She had urged him so, so hard to run. Odin sighed, displeasure coloring their voice.

“She urged you to run. She made me offer you mercy.” If the elezen was to describe Odin’s voice, it would be akin to the sound metal makes when it grinds against metal. Ear splitting. Loud. Echoing. Made his teeth ache to hear at such close a range. 

“I’m afraid I can’t just leave her.” He answered, a glittering attempt at a wry smile dancing upon his sore cheeks.

_ Fool.  _ Danica thought. Odin chuckled, even as Caolan opened his tome and focused on the patterns within. Swirling aether into magical shapes of both protection and harm. Titan-egi, better known as Nugget, manifested, standing beside his master with a stern, rocky glow. 

“Then pray tell, what do you intend to do?” Odin asked, Digging the blade of the damned sword into the ground. Leaning upon it. Apparently, her injuries were catching up with him. Caolan did not answer, but smiled, shaping the aether around him with intent that was beyond what Voss knew. What Odin knew. 

Odin sat down, upon the ground next to the Chimeras corpse. Gently kicking its head with his metal foot. Waiting for an answer that would not come, but somehow lacking the strength to stand and demand it at sword point as more and more of the charged aether surrounded him. Perplexed him. 

_ Genius.  _ Danica continued to think. Even as pain grew sharper along her body, images too grew clearer. Smiles growing in earnest. Desire for blood giving way to the desire to rest.

“Clever boy and his magic tricks...” Odin murmured. Metal head growing heavy. Brilliant bands of purple and blue formed around one half of the kneeling god. Stripping away the black plate and leaving naught but bruised and injured person beneath. 

_Clever boy, and his magic tricks..._ _  
_ Watching the sword disappear in a burst of aether, Caolan let out a loud cheer. Jumping into the heavens and clapping his feet together. Nugget clapped his big stone hands together in time. 

Grasping Nuggets hands, Caolan began to spin. Near singing “We did it! We did it!” The rocky creature attempting to respond in its own attempt at words. Danica smiled. He had, he had done it. Raising the hand that had once been metal, she smiled. 

And then she collapsed. 

The sudden thump of a body hitting the sad, or well collapsing atop a dead chimera, snapped Caolan from his victorious japery. Eyes snapping with a frightful precision to his friend, freed from her bonds. 

“Fuck” he declared, scrambling across the caverns loose sand to her prone form. “Shit Damn fuck” Nugget floated after, almost worried, but soon found with a wave of a hand his help would not be needed.

Danica, from the small pile of dust and gore she laid in, began to chuckle, wheeze and cough. That chuckle, quickly turned to tearful cries. As the pain of fighting the chimera, and the realization of her predicament settled in her broken form. How close she came to harming others. How close she came to harming more than just herself. 

“Dee, shit are you ok? Do you need a doctor? I’m not a doctor. I have a scarf. It's in use. Fuck.”  Caolans words were a waterfall, it was amazing he managed to maintain any amount of composure before. Or perhaps that was why they came bursting forth now with little beyond the most basic thought attached to them.

He picked her up, gently and with a great deal of effort to not worsen any of the wounds he could see, and any he couldn't. Gods it looked like she took the chimeras ram horns to the gut, or perhaps the dragon maw? He didn’t want to think about specifics.

“Dee?” He whispered, when she did not respond. She gave him a bleary eyed look in return, as much as she could turn her head. 

“I’m scared Caolan.” 

Three words whispered, three final words. Before her world went black and she went limp in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> annnd now to write the next chapter. I'm very proud of what ive gotten thus far even if these last two chapters have had me restart at least twice for both of them xD but hey. They're done. 
> 
> I promise shes not dead, couldn't play my wol if she ended here
> 
> Kinda an abrupt ending to this one, but i think i like it? If not I might amend tomorrow.


	6. Pray Return to the Waking Sands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caolan makes a choice, so does Tataru.
> 
> ft. My inability to write Urianger and my good friends WoL Neran

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took much longer than I hoped it would, and im not 10000% sure im happy with the end result but i am happy its done ya know. Bit a dry spell for writing recently.

Caolan Haustefort ran a thin finger over the two now mostly healed cuts along his jaw and underneath his eye. They’d leave scars, thin ones across half his visage, but nothing that wouldn’t be considered dashing upon the face of a would be famous pirate. He gave his reflection the most dashing smile he could muster, and promptly winced in pain instead. Still sore, why did handsome scars have to be as painful as regular ones? 

Laughing a bit at himself, he shook his head. His clarity of thought must still be clouded by remnants of adrenaline. Just two hours before, rushing through the desert, his friends body in his arms.

Kicking down the door to the first building a poor terrified Lalafel merchant had pointed out as the Waking Sands, Caolan Haustefort announced his presence commanding nothing less than the occupants full attention. He had hoped, somewhere in his mind, that it would be only the one who sent his dear, unconscious, friend on her ill fated mission, but instead found the confused eyes of another Lalafel and a Hyur man sitting in a circle, cloth spread across their laps.

Out of breath, mind running a million miles an hour, the elezen managed to bark out a single question with much more hostility than he would have liked. 

“Wheres Urianger?” His words were clear, and sharp, like a blade aimed at the hearts of the two unfamiliar scions. He’d entrust his friend turned primals care to no other than the individual he deemed responsible. For her part, the Lalafel woman scrambled to her feet and towards him. Looking anxious and panicked at the still warrior in his arms. She didn’t stop to demand his name or ask how he came to find Danica this way, and merely ran further into the building. Down some stairs, and down the corridor he could not see the end of. 

The Hyur was not so adamant in letting Caolans mysterious, and honestly quite suspicious appearance with an injured friend go without question. Standing with a huff, he put himself between the Elezen and the pathway in which the Lalafel had walked, which Caolan had planned on following her down. 

“And who exactly are you?” His words bit back with just as much blade as Caolan had put into his. He stood defensive, square, there would be no moving him without an answer. “And what happened to Dee?” A friend? No one called her that but friends. Or really sarcastic enemies but he doubted that was the case here. 

“We were attacked on the way back” he explained, not exactly lying, but not the whole truth. “A chimera, we had wandered into a cave to take shelter from a storm and didn’t know it was its lair.” That on the other hand was boldface. He hoped his bandaged face and her prone and injured form was enough to give credence to the story. He didn’t give his name, he didn’t plan on doing so. 

“Why do you call for Urianger then? And not just find a closer medic?” He was being grilled, and knew if he tried to answer that he’d merely give away his lie. He could claim that the storm was nearby, but general knowledge of the weather would prove it was a lie. He could claim she demanded to be brought here.

“I don’t know!Why don’t you go get mauled by a Chimera and tell me how thinking goes after that? How clear your mind is?!” Caolan growled in response, a nonanswer the only answer in his arsenal he had any hope in. The Hyur, whose name he would eventually learn is Neran, did not get a chance to respond.

Two sets of hurried footsteps snapped the arguing men’s attention back towards the hallway. The Lalafel, whose name he would learn is Tataru, and the Elezen he had been told was Urianger stood, out of breath and startled at the sight they had walked into. 

“Give the Lady here” Urianger spoke, taking her prone form from his arms before he even had a chance to respond in protest, or continue pleading his case to the Hyur. “Mistress Tataru, please inform the others they can call off the search. Neran, if you may please lock the front door; I’ve need of concentration for her-” the hooded elezen stopped, turning once more to face Caolan, a critical look hidden behind his goggles. “Nay, both of their injuries. You ser can still walk, but I ask you follow me either way.” 

Oh gods, they’d been searching for her. Oh hells, he’d have to think of something to tell them. How many had they sent out, better yet, how long had she waited to call him in the first place?

But that was earlier, two hours ago in fact. Perhaps two and a half, depending on how long he’d been standing at that mirror, looking into his own reflection and being mesmerized by the change. 

They’d brought her further into the building, into a back room, with a bed and some tables and enough medical supplies ferried in it made him more than a bit envious. If only the arcanist was that well stocked when one of the students was injured. Urianger had spent more time and aether than he cared to admit knitting her back together, Caolan wished only that he could help more.

But he was a Summoner, and all he really knew was how to fix himself in a pinch. 

And nugget, but nugget was a floating rock friend, so he didn’t really need fixing.

Afterwards, it was his turn to be poked and prodded, and weaved back together. His stitches, however, took far less time. Though he did have the misfortune of being awake for the entire event, which she’d never hear the end of as soon as she awoke. A lie on his part that made him chuckle, Danica, he knew, would need no help remembering her deeds. If anything she would need help forgetting.

Turning from the mirror, Caolan gazed at the sleeping form of his friend. Never before had he seen her look so small, afraid. Danica was loud and brilliant and larger than life. That was just who she was. Not a fragile thing wrapped in bandages and confined to beds. Then again, she wasn’t a primal either, but yet here they were.

The two of them, for Urianger had remained with a book by her side, waited for any sign of life in her still eyes. He must have felt responsible, he’d agreed to send her on her own. Some petty part of Haustefort agreed with him, another part realized that none of them could have seen it coming. 

“She beat Odin.” He spoke, without really thinking of the words leaving his mouth. Just the strangeness of the situation at hand. 

“Yet she fell to a Chimera.” Urianger responded, his words doubting him more than his expression did. 

“She wasn’t just fighting the Chimera.” He spoke again, realizing what he was doing. Trying desperately to calculate if this breach of trust was worth the aid Urianger might supply. Or if the two of them could really go at this alone, when one single misstep could mean the consumption of Danica’s entire being. Soul and all.

“Dare I ask you to speak simply?” Urianger closed his book and crossed his arms, looking up at Caolan through his impassive mask, aided by those ever present goggles and the shade of his hood. 

“You can, but with one condition.” Caolan took a deep breath, and slowly raised a finger as if to cement his point to Urianger. In reality, it was to cement his course of action to himself, stay the waves of fear. Urianger gave an affirmative nod, waiting for the sentencing.

“What I say not another living soul learns. It stays in this room, between the three of us.” Though he could not see it, Haustefort could almost feel the widening of Uriangers eyes, as the gravity of the situation sank in. The other elezen stood from his chair, walked in three long paces towards the door, and double checked its locks. Then triple checked them. 

Caolan wasn’t sure if he was satisfied or not when he turned back to face him, but he didn’t have time to think about the smallest of social and physical actions in the grand scheme of his planning. No, he had the now and thats all he had to work with. Now he just needed to figure out where to start.

“She beat Odin” He repeated his words from earlier, slowly, letting them hang in the air heavy with their own mystery. Urianger opened his mouth, as if to chime in that Caolan had already said that, he found words to continue. “But she did not end him.” 

“By defeating him, in fact, she became him.” Urianger could not stop the gasp that left him, or the panicked step forward. 

“You cannot speak seriously, Ser. Lady Voss is a primal?” Caolan cursed him, his voice was far too loud. What if someone heard? What would they do then? An irrational fear, he knew all who was in the building yet one he harbored all the same. 

“Yes, and no. Maybe?” Caolan shrugged. “I cannot say for certain, I just know she believes she is, and from the...event that stopped us on the road i'm inclined to believe she is right.” 

Urianger sat down upon the edge of the bed with a huff that Caolan was almost afraid he’d wake her.

And Tataru was almost afraid she’d been heard.

As she was plastered with her ear to the door, cursing and crying at every declaration from the strange handsome pirate who carried Dee inside. Danica! A Primal! Something had to be done, someone had to know! Someone who could help! Someone like -

“Neran!” 


End file.
